


The Fault in Our Cars

by rboudreau



Series: The Fault [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Car Trouble, Gratuitous Swearing, M/M, OMC is the therapist, Some angst, Therapy, and some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:12:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rboudreau/pseuds/rboudreau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey picks Ian up after therapy. They have car troubles and discuss relationship troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fault in Our Cars

**Author's Note:**

> This got way ahead of me. I don't even know. I hope you like random angst.

“So, uh…therapy went okay?” Mickey asked, one hand holding the steering wheel, the other thumbing at his bottom lip.

Ian shrugged noncommittally. “I guess.” Mickey nodded, still rubbing at his bottom lip. Ian knew by now it was a nervous gesture, one usually exhibited when Mickey wanted to say something but was holding back. 

“That’s…good, yeah, that’s good.”

 

Ian had been attending therapy for a few weeks now, having sessions twice a week with this shrink the hospital had recommended. He’d been on a slew of medications since being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and the meds were only just starting to do their job over the last few days.

_“It’ll take at least two weeks for the medication to have its intended effect,” the therapist had said. “After that, we’ll decide if it’s a good combo for you, or if we need to switch things around.”_

Ian had scoffed at him, firmly in denial of the fact that he needed medication or therapy. It was fucking bullshit. Gallagher’s didn’t _do_ therapy. They just sucked it up and grabbed the closest bottle. They didn’t need to spend a shit ton of money to have someone ask how they’re feeling.

And yet, there Ian was. Two times a week, every week, in a stuffy office, telling some guy how the pills he had to take twice a day were making him feel. Talking about what could have caused the first episode to occur; things Ian really would rather not think about.

So why was he in therapy if he was completely against it? The answer was simple: Mickey Milkovich. Ian hated that he was so in love with him that he’d do anything for him, including seeing a therapist. He’d given Ian those fucking sad eyes that got to him every time and begged – Mickey Milkovich, _begging_ – for Ian to see a professional and get on some medication. After the first session (and the second), Ian had thrown a fit, yelling and screaming at Mickey about how pointless all of it was, and _“I don’t fucking **need** pills or therapy! I’m fucking fine! This is fucking **bullshit**!”_ He’d thrown a bunch of things around Mickey’s living room as he yelled at his boyfriend, and Mickey had just stood there through all of it.

**

“—they do is fill you up with a bunch of drugs until you’re practically a fucking _zombie_ ,” he said, kicking a pile of newspapers that were resting on the ground. “And ask you how you fucking _feel_. ‘Are you eating, Ian? How’s your anger, Ian? Do you feel like killing yourself today, Ian?’” he mocked. He threw a beer bottle across the room, sending it soaring past Mickey and smashing into a wall. “As if I’m not going to want to off myself living in this fucking _shitty ass town_ where everyone stares at me like I’m a God damn _mental case_!”

He emphasized his point by knocking a bunch of video games off the shelf beside the TV and sending them flying. Mickey continued standing there, not saying a word. Ian grabbed a cushion off the couch and hurled it at him angrily. Mickey caught it and reminded silent.

“God, would you fucking say something?! Stop fucking standing there and say something!”

Mickey looked down at the cushion in his hands for a moment and inhaled deeply. He tossed it back on the couch and met Ian’s eyes.

“What do you want me to say? That you’re right? That I’m not going to make you keep going to therapy? Because that’s not happening.” Ian growled and crossed the room pushing Mickey into a wall hard and holding him there. “That make you feel better, tough guy? Then go ahead. Shove me into all the walls you want. Beat my face in. Smash everything in this place if that’s what it takes. I don’t give a shit. But you’re going to therapy, and you’re taking your fucking meds.”

Ian pressed him harder into the wall with a death grip on Mickey’s arm. “Why are you doing this to me?! Do you really hate me this much that you’d force me into this?” Mickey narrowed his eyes at him.

“Fuck you. You think this is because I hate you? Look at yourself, Ian! You spent two weeks in bed practically fucking comatose, and all I could do is watch! You’ve been out of bed for, what, five days, and you’re throwing shit around and shoving me into walls because I’m trying to get you some help? Man, fuck you. If you think for one fucking second that I told everyone that I like taking your dick up my ass and got the shit beat out of me because _I fucking hate you_ , then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

Ian blinked, loosening his hold on Mickey slightly when he saw his eyes getting wet and his voice getting raspy. Mickey averted his eyes and pushed Ian away. He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself.

“I fucking….God _damn it_ , I fucking care about you more than I care about anyone else, besides maybe Mandy. I don’t _do_ all this gay ‘feelings’ shit, but you’re fucking _**it**_ for me, okay? I’ve already lost you enough, asshole, I’m not fucking losing you again because you don’t want to take your pills or talk to someone. I’m not letting you turn into your fucking mom, you got it? You’re going to therapy. You’re taking your fucking meds. I’ll do whatever I fucking can to get the money to pay for it all. And you can either accept it, or I’ll kick your fucking ass. You wanted a boyfriend? You got one. Now get your ass in the kitchen and take your pills while I clean up this fucking mess.”

**

Things had been a little easier after that, but Mickey knew Ian was still opposed to therapy, but he was getting a little better now that the pills were kicking in and making him a little more himself.

Mickey was broken out of his daydream by Ian placing a hand on his leg. Mickey looked over and saw the small smile on Ian’s face.

“You okay?” Mickey nodded and grabbed Ian’s hand in his own.

“Just missed you,” he admitted. “The Alibi’s a pain in the ass when I don’t have you there to distract me.” Ian grinned.

“I missed you too.” He was quiet for a moment, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Mickey’s hand. “We talked about you today.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes on the road. “Oh?”

Ian nodded. “About how we started. How your trips to juvie delayed our emotional connection.” Mickey scoffed.

“I thought you were supposed to be talking about you in there.” 

“Ah, but you are a part of me, my love.” Mickey side-eyed him.

“Do you want your ass kicked?” Ian chuckled and pressed a kiss to the back of Mickey’s hand.

“According to my _wonderful_ therapist,” Ian started sarcastically. “In order to be able to sort all my shit out, I have to talk about the different relationships in my life. Frank and Monica, my siblings, you…he thinks it will help me not have as many angry outbursts if I talk about everything in therapy.”

“Well then…if that’s what he thinks will help.” 

Ian stares at him. “You hate when I talk about our relationship to other people. Why are you not getting mad that I talk to some stranger about our private lives?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Because I’m _paying_ that stranger. If he thinks talking about me going to juvie so I didn’t have to ‘emotionally connect’ with you will help you, then by all means.” Ian opens his mouth to retort, but Mickey cuts him off. “Listen to your shrink, _my love_.”

**

“Jesus Christ, where the hell is all this traffic coming from?” Mickey complained. 

Ian shrugged. “Probably an accident or something.” He looked over at Mickey and got a mischievous grin on his face. “We could always pass the time with your dick in my mouth,” he suggests. Mickey whipped his head to the side to look at Ian.

“The fuck—you haven’t—what?”

Mickey felt his face heat up despite himself. He and Ian hadn’t had sex since before the depressive episode started. Ian hadn’t been in the mood, first being too depressed to want to, and then the meds making it so he couldn’t get it up even if he’d wanted to. It was the longest they’d gone without since before Mickey had brought Ian back home. He felt himself twitch in his pants at the thought of Ian’s mouth around him again, but his attention was brought elsewhere as he saw smoke start coming out of the hood of his car. 

“Oh come on, what the fuck?”

He slowly changed lanes to get into the emergency lane and turned on his hazard lights. He popped the hood, then he and Ian got out and walked over to the front of the car. Mickey opened the hood, waving his hand at the smoke that billowed towards them. When it stopped, he looked at the inside of the hood for a moment before looking over at Ian.

“You know anything about cars?”

Ian shook his head and laughed. “I’m kinda surprised _you_ don’t know anything about cars.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Guess I’m a fag after all.” Ian grinned.

“Didn’t need to convince me. I’ve got firsthand experience in how your ass feels around my dick.” Mickey paused for a moment and shifted to face him fully.

“Alright, what the fuck is with you today?” 

Ian raised an eyebrow at him. “What’re you talking about?”

Mickey huffed. “First that comment about you sucking me off and now talking about us fucking?”

Ian got even more confused and took a step back from Mickey. “Uhhh last time I checked, we were dating and have a very large sexual history together. What, are you not into the thought of fucking anymore now that I’m crazy?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. And you know I hate when you call yourself crazy, man. You’re not shooting up schools or some shit. You’ve just got elevated moods or whatever. And trust me, I’m into the thought of us fucking. It’s just that _you_ haven’t been into the thought of us fucking. I’m not trying to force you into getting on me just ‘cause you know how to use your cock.”

Ian gave him a small smile. “Is that your way of telling me I make you feel good when we have sex?” Mickey rolled his eyes and started to object, but Ian grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer. “Just because my dick isn’t working right now doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to fuck you. I just can’t.” He leans their foreheads together. “As soon as I can get it up again, I can promise you I’ll make up for the last month. I won’t let you out of bed for a week,” he whispered against Mickey’s lips.

“Just a week?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye. Ian laughed and shoved him playfully before pulling him back and kissing him firmly on the lips.

“I’m gonna call Lip, see if he can come get us.”

**

“Told you this car was gonna be a piece of shit,” Lip said as soon as he got out of his car.

“Yea, you want a fucking medal or something?” Mickey asked, rolling his eyes. 

Lip raised the hood of Mickey’s car and began inspecting it. “Just saying, man.”

Mickey lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth and breathed in the smoke. “Well then you can borrow your rich girlfriend’s car and drive your ass back to the South Side twice a week to take your brother to therapy. How’s that sound?”

Lip scoffed, but Ian shook his head, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist. “I like when you take me. It’s easier to get through it if I know I get to see you after,” he admitted.

Damn it. Ian was pulling out the puppy dog eyes, and fuck if that didn’t weaken Mickey’s resolve every time. The kid knew exactly how to get Mickey to do whatever he wanted.

“Besides,” Ian continued. “Dr. Alterman wants you to come to one of my sessions next week.”

Mickey removed the cigarette from his mouth. “The fuck for? I’m not paying him to talk about my issues, I’m paying him to help you.”

“It is for me,” he insists, tightening his hold on his boyfriend. “He says family focused therapy can help teach you how to cope with my disorder, and teach you how to recognize if I’ve got an episode developing. I told him I wanted you to come with me first, since I spend most of my time with you.”

Mickey sighs. There’s not really much argument he can put up here. “Alright, fine. Whatever.” He takes another drag of his cigarette as Ian grins and presses his lips against Mickey’s cheek.

“Now that that’s settled,” Lip said, closing the hood. “You’re low on coolant. I’m gonna drive over to that gas station up the road and buy a bottle. I’ll be back in 10 minutes tops.”

“Thanks, man,” Ian said. 

Lip gets in his car and drives off. Mickey looks down at his car and sighs.

“I fucking hate cars.”

Ian smiles, lacing their fingers together. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/kudos/critique you are willing to give me. Thanks for taking the time to read this!
> 
> If you want to chat, you can find me on tumblr at [ be-your-own-anchor5](http://www.be-your-own-anchor5.tumblr.com)


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